Entry #1. Tuesday. 11:43 PM.
I think I’m losing it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation and too much pre-workout.
I messed up in Bio today. Not grades-wise—I’m always on top of that—but in terms of control. I was sitting in the back, messing around on my phone, until Claire (the girl Brad calls "The Plague") went up to the board.
God, she’s objectively… nothing. Skinny as a rail, slouching, always buried in those oversized grey rags that smell like libraries and dust. Her hair’s a mess, her glasses are constantly sliding down. She’s a blank space. Social trash. If she stopped existing, nothing in this school would change.
But when she started talking about DNA structures, her voice shifted. It became… steady? Confident. And for a second, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. I caught her profile in a beam of light from the window. Her neck is so thin. Too thin, almost translucent. And those fingers… long, trembling as she held the chalk.
I realized I wasn't looking at my phone anymore. I was staring at her. Five minutes. Ten. This weird, nauseating pressure built up in my chest—like I’d eaten something spoiled, yet strangely addictive. Like looking at a wound you can’t turn away from.
Then Brad threw a crumpled paper at her and cracked up, and I laughed right along with him. Louder than anyone. Because that’s how it works. Because it’s Claire.
But now I’m lying here in the dark, and all I can see is her neck and the way she flinched when the class laughed. Why do I want to… no, that’s insane. I couldn't possibly want to go near her. It sounds like a perversion. If anyone found out I even thought about her for more than a second, I’m dead.
I make myself sick. I need sleep. Practice tomorrow—I need to beat this out of my head.
